


Tile

by nicepeaches



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicepeaches/pseuds/nicepeaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suga has never kissed anyone before and he's never been kissed. There's something about Daichi's thumb on his chin that gives him a false sense of confidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tile

**Author's Note:**

> [climbs back into dumpster]
> 
> stay in school kids.
> 
> uh they're aged up idk how old you want them to be use your imagination they still play volleyball in college idk man

Suga doesn’t remember how he got here. Sure, he remembers walking to Daichi’s house in the bitter cold of December, wearing nothing but a tee-shirt, sweatpants, and the pair of tacky polka-dot boxers his mother bought him for Christmas. The thing he really doesn’t remember is how he ended up on the floor of Daichi’s basement bathroom, stoned off his ass and only a little bit cold. He doesn’t remember how much he’s smoked, nor does he remember where his sweater went, but there’s something nice about the cool air flowing in through the open window. There are a lot of nice things about the way he can see Daichi sitting in the bathtub, squinting as he reads through something on his phone and takes another hit off the joint he’s holding. There’s a bar of soap on the floor. _Why is there a bar of soap on the floor?_

Daichi looks down at Suga, setting his phone down next to him, (he didn’t even _turn it off_ , damn him) and places his elbows on the edge of the tub, placing his chin in his hands. “You up for a fifth?” He has the audacity to ask, and Suga looks at Daichi like he’s grown a fourth head. He knows he shouldn’t but instead he _nods_ , with full knowledge that he has nothing to do tomorrow, anyway. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Suga groans, attempting to get up and look for some paper. 

“Dude. Dude, just use toilet paper.” Daichi waves his phone around. 

Suga sniffles. “We are not rolling joints with toilet paper.” 

Daichi shoots a sidelong glance at the roll of toilet paper sitting on the sink counter. "We could try." 

"I don't know about you, but I think I'd rather use normal paper over your mother's extra-strength scented toilet paper." 

Suga laughs, then, a half-hearted snicker. Daichi doesn't know if it's the high talking, or if he's almost too tired to tell right from left, but he suddenly wants to touch Suga. Not even in a sexual way, either. It's a strange kind of want, Daichi thinks; one that twists in his gut as if something he's eaten hasn't quite agreed with him. Or maybe it's anxiety, the origin of which is god knows where. 

And then Suga is gone and the bathroom door is open, and Daichi remains in the bathtub with a foul taste on his lips and a chill he can't shake. Instead he focuses on the opposite wall. The teal wallpaper is peeling in places, exposing the cream-colored paint beneath. Daichi has been meaning to fix that, but, unfortunately, school keeps happening. 

Daichi is less than pleased when Suga comes back with his mother's bible, but he figures she must have an extra one lying around somewhere, as every devoted Christian does. "Your mom won't get mad, will she?" Suga asks, _damn_ him, because he knows that Daichi's mother will tear out their insides if she ever finds out they've used pages of her Sunday bible to roll joints. Suga hands Daichi the bible and sits down against the wall. 

“What’s more important, the Old Testament or the New Testament?” Daichi flips through the book, eyebrows raised. 

Suga frowns, trying to process the question. “I don’t know, I mean, they’re probably both really important. Can’t you use the index?” 

“There’s no index in the bible, you idiot.” 

“Use the glossary,” Suga says, picking at some of the peeling paint on the wall. It takes him a moment to realize what he’s said, and then he pauses, squinting. 

“Fuck it,” Daichi finally says, ripping out a page haphazardly. “I don’t know who ‘Joshua’ is, but he had better make halfway decent joints.” 

Daichi somehow manages to clamber out of the tub and onto the floor, where he sets down the page. Suga watches him with a fascination he can’t quite describe. _It’s the high_ , he tells himself, _you’re just high, and your best friend is hopelessly attractive._ Suga licks his lips involuntarily, watching Daichi’s fingers move deftly over the corners of the page; tearing the paper in all the right places and folding in others. Suga wants to hold Daichi’s hand, suddenly. He wants to feel those fingers between his, wants to feel them on his skin, in his hair—

“Koushi.” Daichi’s voice brings him out of his daze, or as much as possible, given his current degree of intoxication. "Koushi, do you know what 'shotgunning' is?" 

Suga picks at the bar of soap on the floor, still confused about why the hell it's there, and replies with, "No, I'm sorry." 

Daichi is murmuring something about where the lighter is, patting the floor. "I'll teach you, one sec." Daichi licks the edge of the paper and does that twisty thing that Suga can never do just right. He flicks the lighter and holds it up to the end of the joint. 

There's something different about the way he inhales, yet Suga can't quite place his finger on the difference. Perhaps it's simply taken him a bunch of hits and a few years to realize that yeah, maybe he's a little bit in love with his best friend. Daichi motions for Suga to come closer, and then closer still until they're face-to-face and Suga can see his reflection in Daichi's eyes. He can smell the smoke on his Captain's breath, can feel the heat of the other's skin on his own. His hands rest on either side of Daichi's hips, flat on the cold tile floor. 

They're close enough that Suga can feel Daichi's breath on his nose. Dachi lifts the joint to his lips and takes a particularly heavier hit than usual. His eyelids flutter closed as he holds his breath, and then he does something that renders Suga incapable of speech for a lingering moment; Daichi takes his hand and places it over Suga's eyes. He doesn't ask. There's a part of him that's figured it out: a part of him that already knew what Daichi had been implying. 

Suga has never kissed anyone before and he's never been kissed. There's something about Daichi's thumb on his chin that gives him a false sense of confidence. And then Suga can feel the shadow of Daichi's lips on his, and they're not so much kissing as they are frozen within mere inches of each other. Daichi tugs on Suga's bottom lip with his thumb, and Suga gets the message: parting his lips ever so slightly. 

It's surreal, Suga's reaction to the contact is likely blown out of proportion due to the high, yet he's sober enough to know what's happening, and without being told, he inhales. Daichi breathes into him, and Suga can feel the heavy smoke filling his lungs, sending the familiar buzz to his head. He almost falls backward, because _holy shit_ , he's literally _this_ close to kissing his best friend. Daichi's other hand is pressed to the back of Suga's head, and his fingers are laced in silver hair. 

"Wanna kiss you," Daichi says, squinting. "Wanna kiss all of you." 

Suga squints, too, because maybe there's something more to see when squinting. "Really?"

"Yeah," Daichi mutters, fumbling for Suga's hand on the floor. Suga's hands are cold, a stark contrast to the unusual warmth of Daichi's palm. "Yeah." He brings Suga's fingers to his lips, then: kisses them individually and maintains a strange sort of eye contact with Suga the entire time. It's intimate, yes, but in their intoxicated haze, the gesture seems oddly hysterical and out-of-place. Suga giggles, pulling his other hand upward to cover his mouth. He slips in the process, falling forward and burying his face in Daichi's chest. 

"Woah, there," Daichi whispers, placing his free hand on Suga's shoulder. 

Suga props himself up and stares Daichi in the eyes. "Again. Daichi, kiss me again." 

Daichi takes another hit and puts his hands on Suga's cheeks, pulling Suga’s bottom lip downward with the pad of his thumb. They’re kissing, again. It’s gentler this time, less tongue, more lip, and Suga breathes Daichi in like he's all that's left. He groans, high on the sensory overload and a feeling in his chest that he knows is _definitely_ not the weed. 

"Kiss me, Daichi," Suga whispers, between kisses. "Kiss me all over." Daichi stiffens when Suga sits up, fingers dancing over the hem of his tee-shirt. 

Suga knows he's higher than he has any business being. He knows he's long past stepping over the line between friends and something more, yet he inches his fingers higher still. Daichi looks away, and Suga can't tell if he's looking away out of the sheer desire to be polite or it he's genuinely embarrassed; neither of which would come as much of a surprise.

"You don't have to look away," Suga says, inching his shirt up further, and Daichi redirects his gaze to Suga's pale stomach. "You don't have to be all _polite_." 

Daichi shivers, quaking with hesitant anticipation beneath Suga. The edge of the bathtub digs into his back. Suga pulls his shirt off the rest of the way, and the pallor of his skin is delightfully enticing, almost like a blank canvas screaming to be marked. Suga notices the look on Daichi’s face, and he wouldn’t call it discomfort, but he wouldn’t call it a face of enjoyment, either. “Should I stop?” 

“No,” Daichi replies quickly. Instinctively, almost. "God, no." 

And then Suga takes hold of Daichi's wrist, brings Daichi's fingers to his lips and kisses them in turn. Daichi can't tell who's moving what anymore: can't tell whether or not he's the one inching his index finger down Suga's neck, or if Suga's hand on his wrist is gently guiding his fingers. Daichi's mind blanks and before he can blink his hand is nowhere where he had anticipated, yet the desire to touch outweighs the anxiety and he twists his thumb and forefinger. Suga's back arches and he presses his chest into Daichi's touch, _wanting_. _Craving_. Suga _whines_ , then, grabbing at Daichi's hand desperately and clutching it to his chest. 

"Again," Suga whispers, and Daichi's fingers are already setting to the task, brushing over the skin of Suga's chest, pressing just enough. 

"You're so goddamn pale," Daichi hums, appreciatively. 

Then he does this _thing_ , and Suga isn't sure exactly what to call it. Daichi leans forward and presses featherlight kisses to Suga's neck, and Suga hopes to whatever deity that may exist that Daichi doesn't leave marks. It feels like Daichi's hands are everywhere at once, pinching, pressing, but it's still not enough, somehow. 

Daichi is breathing heavily now, and so is Suga. Suga isn't sure if he's hallucinating when Daichi whispers something along the lines of, "Take your pants off," but Suga begins to do so anyway.

Suga pauses, surges forward to press his lips to Daichi's again and slides his sweatpants down his hips. Daichi wastes no time in dragging his fingers downward, digging into the soft skin of Suga's ass. His touch is rough; the furthest thing from a gentle caress, and Suga craves more still, pushing back against Daichi's fingers. "Put them inside. I want to feel you." 

Daichi can't breathe, suddenly. It feels as if someone is pushing on his chest, and it's a good kind of hurt. "Fuck," is all he manages, hastily yanking on the hem of Suga's sweatpants until they're bunching at his knees. The room feels too hot and too cold all at the same time. Daichi doesn't know why he's in a hurry. This might be limited. This entire encounter may be nothing but the result of a fleeting decision, one clouded with intoxication and a poor consideration for consequence. They're both still high as hell and neither of them are really in any position to be making decisions like this, yet here they are. 

Suga is laying down on the floor, then, shoving the bar of the soap out of the way and propping himself up on his elbows. His pale complexion gives off a glow against the black of the tiled floor. Daichi wonders how he'd managed to catch _Suga's_ eye, of all people, and he wonders what exactly it is about his less-than-exemplary aesthetic attributes would be responsible for such an attraction. Suga could've certainly been picky with his choice of individuals to hook up with: Daichi is almost certain that nearly everyone in their right mind has had some kind of interest in Suga at some point. 

Daichi suddenly realizes that somewhere along the line, Suga had discarded his sweatpants entirely. He's got on a pair of one of those cliché polka-dot boxers that everyone's mother gives them for christmas. 

"That's cute," Daichi snorts, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Suga's face goes red. "They were a Christmas present, okay?" 

"Okay," Daichi sighs and leans in to kiss Suga again, and it's almost like someone's flipped a switch; the mood changes immediately. Daichi's fingers pull on the hem of Suga's boxers and Suga lifts his hips in turn. 

Daichi doesn't look. There's something about the situation that still doesn't seem right, doesn't seem rational. His mind is slow, still in the process of comprehending the fact that Suga is laying beneath him, entirely naked. There's a part of him that wants to look: a part of him that wants to touch and so much more, yet the fear in him is far more prominent than all of these things. 

"You can touch me, Daichi. It's okay."

Before he can second guess himself, Daichi straddles Suga and grinds down _hard_. Suga groans at the unexpected contact, lifting his hips from the floor. 

"Holy shit," Suga groans, reveling in the satisfaction that accompanies the low, guttural moan Daichi lets out. "Holy shit." There's something raw, something exceedingly desperate about the fact that they're grinding mercilessly against each other, something enthralling about the fact that he can feel Daichi, hard and wanting against his leg. 

Daichi leans down and kisses a line from Suga's jaw to his chest, nibbling at the faint protrusion of the setter's collarbone. He's somehow past caring whether he leaves marks on Suga or not and bites down, harder this time. Suga flinches and bucks his hips again pitifully. He's shaking, Daichi realizes suddenly, and makes the decision to give Suga exactly what he wants.

It feels strange. It feels strange as Daichi lifts his fingers to his lips and takes them in, slowly. He feels like a fucking exhibitionist, feels like he's on top of the world and spiraling downward all at once, and his fingers are heavy and foreign on his tongue. "I'm gonna, um—" There's more he wants to say; there's so much more he wants to do, but he hasn't the slightest idea where to begin, hasn't the slightest idea what to do, how to move, how to act. 

Daichi has been fueled by the assumption that once the initial rush had passed, everything would flow smoothly. He's realized, however, that this simply isn't the case; though he wants to act, he remains frozen in place, fingers aimlessly tracing the outline of his lips.

"You're supposed to fuck my ass, not your own mouth, you nerd." Daichi just sits there, because Suga, precious, innocent, goes-to-church-with-mom-every-sunday-Suga is laying beneath him asking Daichi bluntly to fingerbang his ass, and he doesn't appear outwardly embarrassed about this fact at all. 

Suga pulls Daichi down into a bruising kiss and takes hold of the captain's hand, guides it unceremoniously to his crotch. Much to his own surprise, Daichi doesn't flinch, doesn't stop, he does only what comes to mind. He's watched his fair share of porn, sure, but actually fucking someone has turned out to be much easier in theory than it is in practice. 

It's fluid from there, Daichi would like to think. His hands are shaking and unsteady, fingers scrambling for purchase on _something_.

"Daichi, _shit_ , Daichi, _please_." Suga groans, back arching off of the floor, craving a touch that isn't there. 

Daichi pauses. "Have you done this before?"

Suga replies with a simple "No." The haze has vanished from his mind entirely, and he feels awake, more than ever.

Daichi doesn't want to know why the setter knows as much as he does. He doesn't want to know why Suga knows just where to press, just where to _scratch_. And he's scratching; even though Daichi isn't doing much of anything, Suga's nails dig into his back just enough for Daichi to really _feel_ it. 

That's when the patience in Daichi snaps. Something changes when Suga threads his fingers in Daichi's hair and whispers, "Do it, Daichi." 

He’s on a power trip; he knows he’s on a fucking power trip, how could he not be, because he can feel Suga writhing beneath him, begging him to _get on with it, Daichi_ , and there’s nothing left to stop Daichi from moving, nothing left to blind him with hesitation and stop him from doing what he’s about to do, so he does.

He presses a finger inside, still somewhat cautious, for all it’s worth, and to his surprise, Suga freezes. He stops moving entirely, his somewhat promiscuous and otherwise uncharacteristic facade has vanished, and he is, in that moment, simply Suga. 

Suga is, for lack of a better word, _expressive_. There’s a face for every feeling, a faint iteration of sounds when Daichi moves _just right_. Daichi looks down for the first time since Suga's taken his boxers off and his breath catches in his throat. _Everything_ about the way Suga's chest is red, the way his cock curves upward, straining and dripping onto his stomach makes Daichi want to cry out, to come undone beneath the setter's hands, but that's not what he's expected to do, no, Suga is playing that role. 

Suga groans, spreads his legs wider and grabs Daichi's wrist, shoves his captain's fingers deeper. Daichi is almost too stunned to move, barely capable of moving his fingers by himself. Suga is so hot, and he can _feel_ every movement, every gasp Suga lets out. He jerks his fingers upward experimentally and Suga practically _screams_. He tightens around Daichi's fingers and then they're kissing again; Daichi swallows every noise Suga makes. It's unlike the first kiss, it's wetter, if that makes any sense, and it's more or less a gesture of passion as it is Daichi attempting to keep Suga quiet, because it's one in the morning and god knows his mother's a light sleeper. 

Despite his reluctance to let Suga make too much noise, Daichi curls his fingers again and again, hitting that spot over and over. Suga reels, lips parted and incapable of making any noise, choking on pleas that die in his throat; _There, Daichi, don't stop, please_. Daichi doesn't need to be told, though. 

Suga's mind stops processing what's happening as a whole, and his mind picks up bits and pieces of what's happening: Daichi's breath in his ear, the press of Daichi's fingers inside of him. 

" _Faster_ ," Suga wheezes, shifting his hips pitifully upward. Daichi gives a moment of pause, contemplating what he's about to do and eventually tells himself, "Fuck it." He takes Suga's cock in hand and jerks his wrist upward, runs his thumb over the head. Suga's eyes flutter closed and he whines. He bites his lower lip as Daichi speeds up the ministrations of his fingers. 

" _Fuck_ ," Suga whispers, and his breath is erratic, his body expressive in a way that Daichi has never seen. "Fuck, _yes_!" It only takes two more passes of Daichi's hand and a curl of his fingers for Suga to fall apart, coming undone before Daichi's eyes, and he's _wheezing_. Sugawara Koushi looks completely _wrecked_ as he gasps for air, fists clenched and toes curled as his orgasm hits him like a wave. 

Daichi sits against the tub, afterward, and rips out another page of the bible. Suga lays on the floor, spent and only a little bit sleepy. It's four in the morning and the sun has yet to rise and the light in the bathroom still flickers. 

In the dim light, Suga's fingers find Daichi's. "Everything feels heavy," he laughs, "That was fantastic, I should do that to you, sometime." 

Daichi lays down next to Suga. "Is this a thing now?" 

"Is what a thing? You and I?" 

"Yeah. Are we a thing?" 

Suga pauses, scrunches his face up in exaggerated thought. "Yeah! Yeah, this can be a thing. It's a thing." 

"Okay. Okay, cool." Daichi pauses, still struggling to find the right words. "We should go on a date." 

"We should do this again," Suga sighs, glancing over at Daichi. "That would be one hell of a date." 

Daichi shakes his head and sits up. "No, I mean like, going out to eat and doing _boyfriend_ things." 

"Boyfriend," Suga whispers, like he can't believe it, like it's the most mind-boggling thing he's ever heard in his life. "I like that." 

Daichi kisses Suga's forehead and smiles. "Noodles. We should go out for noodles."

Suga curls into Daichi's chest and ignores the hunger that creeps into his stomach. "I'd like that." 

They both fall asleep like that on the tile floor, high and sleepy and only a little bit cold.

**Author's Note:**

> i need a drink lmao


End file.
